Slumps
by Magali1
Summary: Reedited Version Posted 8/27/2013; Smash hits a slump and a couple friends help him out. Smash, Coach Taylor, and Tim are the main characters here. Semi-fluff. (Updated with appearances by Tami and Gracie).
1. The Slump

**A/N:**This story was a one-shot form earlier this year and because I didn't want to work on my newest multichapter, I went through and reedited and added a couple things to it, including a new chapter. There aren't many Smash stories on here, so enjoy this "new" fic.

* * *

**_Chapter 1: The Slump_**

They called it a slump.

Smash never had slumps. Ever. He was The Smash. Heisman, National Championship, MVP, Super Bowl…he had it all. He was ranking in rushing yardage for the entire NFL. Records, baby, records, he had them. He said he'd make them and he did. All through A&M and all through his last five years with the NFL. He was better than anyone had seen in a long time, they were saying his name was going to go up there with the likes of Montana, Elway, Brady…he'd be there.

He was Smash, baby.

And then there was his story, which just made it all seem bigger. Small-town Texas high school champion, almost lost it all, got it back, everything. Single mother, he took care of her and his sisters, but she forced him to get a degree, so he'd have something to fall back on when he finished with the NFL. He was never one for business or economics, but he'd studied and he'd walked out of A&M with a decent GPA and a degree in Finance.

So when, several years into his amazing life, the lifestyle he was born for baby, and after making those records and fighting for that spot with A&M, he knew something was wrong, as he sat out by his pool in a lounge chair, while tons of college co-eds, his entourage, people he didn't even know partied around him, the speakers blasting rap music, the bass rattling the windows of his Miami beachhouse, even though he played for the Cleveland Browns.

Cleveland wasn't a bad town; he just didn't like the snow. Even if it was the middle of September and hotter than hell. Miami was more his speed. He liked the ocean. He also didn't mind the co-eds. Just not today.

He closed his eyes, fighting off the urge to just tell everyone to go away. They said it was a slump. They, his momma demanded, who cares who 'they' are Brian, she'd yelled at him the other night, trying to cheer him up. Don't you listen to 'they.' It didn't matter though because 'they' were the ESPN commentators and 'they' helped influence the decision-makers. He didn't want to get cut because the rest of the world thought he was a liability.

It wasn't a slump. I don't do slumps. I'm Smash.

"Smash baby, why don't we go upstairs," a Victoria Secret model purred into his ear.

He lightly waved his hand. What was her name? Anita? He couldn't remember, but she was from some country he couldn't pronounce. "No baby I'm good." There was a reason for his…slump. If he admitted he was in one. Which right now…he sighed. He really couldn't deny. Lately, he couldn't hold a damn football without dropping it. He was getting beat around by the worst defensive linemen in the NFL like he was a rag doll. He was slow.

Something was wrong.

He needed a challenge.

Removing the Victoria's Secret model from his lap, he stood, and walked away from the pool and the party, going into his house and pushing through the throngs of people. How they even got there, he didn't know. They weren't his friends. He knew what friends were. These were just hanger-ons, he kept them for the image. His agent said it would work for when he was done with the NFL.

Momma told me to be wary of them and his mother hadn't ever been wrong about anything, so…he kept them at a distance. He would kick them out later. If they hadn't already left because he wasn't putting on a great party. Usually it was livelier. Not in the mood, he thought, continuing through his made-up house. It wasn't even what he liked now. He'd have to just get rid of everything.

This slump is messing me up. I don't know what I want anymore.

He arrived on the second floor a moment later; he kept the doors locked when he had these parties. Off limits. His domain, what little bit he allowed himself. He unlocked the door to his suite of rooms, closing and flicking the lock behind him. He walked through the airy space to a desk in the corner, facing the bay.

There was one answer to this 'slump.' Only one way he could stop it right now before it got worse. And plus, figure it out.

He sat down, dialing a number on the slim phone console in the corner. He'd memorized it when he got into the NFL, after he located it, in case he'd need it one day. Right now he needed it.

It rang a few times. Finally, the familiar Texan twang answered. "Hello?"

"Coach." Smash took a deep breath, slowly releasing it. This was going to be hard, but…hell, it was his last resort. "I need…I'm slipping. Need some help." You probably already have noticed. Momma told him Coach Taylor always called to check on him. She probably told him, if he hadn't read it in the paper or seen it on ESPN.

There was silence.

Come on Coach. He cleared his throat, speaking after another minute of silence passed between them. "Meet me at Pemberton High School football field Saturday morning. Eight sharp."

That was in Philadelphia! "Coach? That's in two days!"

"Do you want me to help you or not?"

"Yes…sir." Smash nodded. Yes, I need help. "I'll be there." Guess I'll have them gas up the jet. He'd gotten into some time share with a G-5. It was nice. Not that he used it much.

"And bring tickets," Coach piped up.

"Tickets, Coach? What kind of tickets?"

"I don't know, I don't care, I want 50-yard line seats to some sort of NFL game. See you Saturday Brian."

They hung up at the same time. Smash smiled to himself. He reached for the phone, lifting it back up to call and let his agent know where he was going. He was not going to be going through a slump and then skip town without letting the proper people know. He wasn't, well it wasn't like he was in high school and running off to Mexico, he thought with a small smile.

A brief thought passed through his mind, wondering about his high school teammates. He'd lost touch with so many of them. He cleared his throat, speaking when his agent's voicemail finished. "Hey Street, it's me, I'm gonna' be out of town for a couple days. I'll be in Pennsylvania. I'll tell Coach you said hey. What's up with the rest of the gang, you know? Been wondering lately. Know you heard about my slump man, but hey, I'm working on it. Talk to you man." He hung up and made another call to his offensive coordinator, requesting the weekend. He claimed he had family issues.

Well, it sort of was family issues, he thought, tossing the phone aside. But I'm going to get my game back.

* * *

What a damn small football field, he thought, sitting on the bleachers, looking from one end to another. How the hell Coach was expecting to train him on this…he had no idea. It was like a garden. It was even smaller than Hermann Field and he hadn't realized what a postage stamp that was until he got to play with the Aggies.

A loud screech echoed in the early morning silence. He lifted his head, seeing a gate open at the end of the field. Coach walked out, wearing standard khakis, a dark green polo, and dark green visor, but he wasn't alone. Smash frowned; he didn't recognize the guy walking with him from the distance in jeans, sunglasses, backwards baseball hat, and a t-shirt, tossing a football back and forth in his hands.

They approached him and it took a second before he was off the bleachers in a flash. He knew that guy. Now he knew him anymore. "Riggs!"

The reunion was shut down before it could start. "Sit down Williams," Coach ordered, pointing his finger. "This is not a high school reunion. Tim is here to kick your ass into shape."

"But…I called you."

"And he called me," Tim answered, smiling, tossing the ball back and forth in his hands. He smiled wide. "This is gonna' be fun Williams. I was the only one who could knock you on your ass."

That was true, but this was not what he had in mind. Not that he minded a reunion, but…he surveyed Riggins. For the last ten plus years, he'd been playing against college and professional football players. What had Riggins been doing? Probably not that. It wouldn't be a fair fight. Besides, he looked the same as in highschool. Hair was a little shorter and he had a beard, but…still. Not a fair fight. "Look Coach, I'm here to get over a slump, okay. How are you going to help me do that?" He looked over at Coach Taylor. "Well Coach? How is Riggins, who probably hasn't played a football game in ten years gonna' help me? The pro?"

Coach Taylor smiled, his eyes shadowed by sunglasses. He looked away, glanced at Tim, and then returned his face to Smash. "That's not for me to answer. It's for you to answer." He lifted his whistle to his lips.

Smash didn't have time to ask what the Mr. Miaygi crap was about before Coach issued his first order. "First we're gonna' start with some calisthenics."

"100 up downs," Tim said. He lifted his eyebrows, pointing to the field. "Now Williams."

Smash laughed. "Look, Riggs baby, I know you…"

Tim reached out, grabbing him by the back of his neck and jerking him towards the field. "I didn't say in five minutes I said now!"

Whoa! Where the hell did that come from, he wondered, turning to face him, but Coach just gave him a look. He knew that look. Don't question that look. Fine, whatever. He rolled his eyes, beginning the up-downs, and proceeded to spend the next few hours listening to Tim yell that he was crap, he wasn't doing them right, he wasn't doing anything right, for that matter. Smash fought back the almost uncontrollable urge to tackle him.

Until he finally got to, when Riggins changed into workout gear and started running plays with him, but hell, it was still a workout. He couldn't believe how fast he still was. Two combinations that most of the teams they played against couldn't handle. The tag-team combo of Riggins and Williams; one who was massive yet agile, and one who was just freaking fast with a ball, they were a great team, he thought with a small smile.

But crap, Riggins was still the fastest he'd been up against since high school. Faster than anyone in the NFL that he could think of, that's for sure. "Crap," Tim announced, several hours later, after backing away from him after another play. "Again." He was barely breathing.

Smash took off, but Tim moved again out of his way. "Again."

Over and over and over, until he was chugging water, completely ready to pass out; Riggins barely sipped his water, he didn't seem dehydrated at all. And Coach was just watching it all, taking it in. Not even bothering. "Coach," he gasped, sometime that afternoon. "How is this helping me?"

"Don't question Smash, just do. I think Tim only gave you five seconds, it's now been ten." Coach pointed back to the field, leaning back on the bleachers, smiling. He shrugged. "I thought you trusted me."

Sadist, Smash thought, running back to the field. And I do trust you. He continued to run through the drills, finally getting at least a small smile out of Riggins at the end of the day. "Am I done for the day?" he gasped, shaking his head. He pointed at Tim. "Man Riggs, you need to go work for the NFL. Ain't ever been trained this hard."

Tim just smiled that annoying half-smile that drove Smash insane, because it didn't seem like too much extra effort to just smile like a normal person, but Tim was never normal. "Too much responsibility," he said, quietly. Smash frowned. What was that supposed to mean?

He lifted his gym bag over his shoulder, walking off from the bleachers to the parking lot. "Same time tomorrow Coach?"

Coach Taylor slipped his sunglasses off, narrowing his eyes at both of them. He clearly sized them up. "No," he said, shaking his head. "Seven."

"See you then."

Smash stared down at Coach. Now was time for some answers. He'd been put through the ringer. He deserved them. "How the hell did you get him out of Texas? Drag him up here kicking and screaming by his ankles or something?"

"I asked politely. It's amazing what saying please will do." Coach smiled again. He shrugged a shoulder, sheepish. "And I asked his wife for permission."

Whoa! Talk about a newsflash. Smash's eyes widened to dinner plates. He couldn't believe that. "Riggy got married!?" he exploded.

"Yes, Williams, I did." Tim leaned over the fence, calling out to him. Bat ears, Smash thought, turning his head to face him. Tim shrugged. "You coming with me to get a drink or what?"

Obviously he was. They had catching up to do. He glanced down at Coach. "Guess I'm getting a drink."

"Try not to bring down the entire city of Pemberton, Pennsylvania with you. Trouble tends to follow the both of you around. Oh, and Tami insists you have dinner with us tomorrow evening. Don't be late and she's also requested no bling."

It'd be real nice to see Mrs. Coach. He hadn't had a home-cooked meal in awhile either. Plus, he wanted to know what was up with the rest of the Taylor family. "Yes sir, I'll be there," he laughed, turning and leaving the football field, tossing his bag into the back of the white pickup truck Riggins was driving. He climbed up into the cab. "You rented a truck? Or did you drive this from Dillon?"

"Rented, but I can't drive anything other than a truck." He rolled his eyes. "Except the wife's car."

"And what would that be? A minivan?" he laughed. That was hilarious if it was. Tim didn't answer. Smash gaped. "Seriously?"

"I'm not answering." Tim put the truck into gear, driving away from the football field, taking a U-turn and heading out of town. He waved his hand, changing the subject. "Reach in back."

I will get an answer to this whole wife thing. Smash turned, looking over the seat and rolled his eyes. He reached down, taking a bottle of beer from the cooler in the back. "Should have known you'd already stocked up."

"Don't ever drink anymore, so this is a vacation for me. Of course I stocked up." Tim drove the truck out of Pemberton, parking in a field behind a church and a strip-mall. He climbed out, reaching for a bottle, cracking the cap expertly. He tilted it towards him. "Never thought I'd see the day. You're finally listening to me."

"Hey, who has a Super Bowl ring, huh?" Smash reached into his pocket, pulling out the gaudy bling, waving it around. He never went anywhere without that little bit of memory. "I worked my ass off for this Riggs." He slipped it on his hand, watching the diamonds flicker before he lifted his head, seeing Riggs watching him. He shrugged. "Want to try it on?"

"No."

It was clear, concise, and the truth. It was actually the first time Smash believed someone who said they didn't want to try on the ring, with its huge diamonds spelling out his win, along with the Browns orange helmet. Whatever. He shrugged, shoving it back into his pocket. He didn't wear it, just carried it, since it drew too much attention. He liked to make his own attention, not have a ring do it for him.

He took a sip of his beer, stunned by how much he really didn't drink anymore, if his reaction to the bitter cheap beer meant anything. He barely managed to swallow it. "Wow," he mumbled, studying the bottle. They weren't in high school anymore. "Been a long time."

Beside him, he heard a ringing, it sounded like…he frowned. Kind of like the theme to a Disney movie or something. He just got the image of kittens and rainbows as he listened. "What's that?"

"Hang on." Tim reached into his pocket for his cell phone, which was playing the music.

Smash caught a glimpse of the number and "Lily" in text above it. He frowned. "Who is Lily?" That the wife, he wanted to know.

Tim shot him a look and turned away, his voice quiet, but not answering Smash's question. "Hey baby, I told you I'll be back in a couple of days." He laughed at something Lily said. "You want the song or the story? Story? Okay."

Smash sipped his beer, leaning against the truck and listening to his old high school teammate speak quietly into the phone about ogres and fairy princesses. Clearly not the wife, unless she was five or something. The story ended with the princess saving the day and defeating the ogre for her prince. He grinned. He'd have to ask him about that. He thought most stories ended with the guy saving the day. Obviously not in Lily's world. Maybe it was his niece or something. Billy should probably have kids by now.

He sighed, looking out at the field. He closed his eyes, savoring the relative quiet. It wasn't Dillon type of quiet, since he could hear cars and sirens and just…civilization behind him, but it wasn't the bustle of Miami or New York or LA.

There was no bass playing from a DJ setup, no celebrities milling around, no models lying on top of him, and no just…no drama, but Smash felt like he was having the time of his life. "Well," he said after Tim tossed his phone into the truck a moment later, returning to his side. "So who's the girl that has Tim Riggins whipped?"

"No one."

The phone rang again, the same ringtone, only this time Smash saw the name "Sophie" pop up when he peeked into the window at the phone on the passenger seat. Sophie, huh, he thought, as Tim turned away again, his voice equally quiet. This time he couldn't hear anything. Tim spoke for a few minutes, turned around, and hung up.

Maybe that was the wife.

"So…Lily and Sophie. Which one is the wife?" he teased. His brow furrowed. He still wanted answers. "And which one is the one that has you whipped?"

"What's it to you Williams?"

He shrugged again. "Curious."

"It's nothing," Tim said, quiet. He leaned back against the truck. He took a few sips of beer. After a moment, he glanced sideways. "So how's South Beach treating you?"

Smash shrugged, not wanting to answer. Normally he loved talking about his house, his life, and his twenty-car collection. Plus his jet and his bodyguards and his models. But…but his life in South Beach wasn't treating him the way he expected it would. Whatever the hell that was. Not after the slump at least.

He sighed. "I'm in a slump Riggins. That's how it's treating me. Nothing's good anymore. It's a slump."

"You just need someone to kick your ass. You'll be fine." Tim waved his finger around at him. "By the way, I want tickets. This ain't free and you're paying for my airfare. And the truck. And the beer."

Smash rolled his eyes. "You and Coach, I can't just get tickets, there isn't some magical ticket fairy!"

"Yes there is," Tim said, seriously. He smiled. "You."

"Oh shut up Riggins." He sighed, setting the beer down on the ground and reaching into the truck for the football, tossing it in the air. He gestured with it towards him. "We need Matty. Then this will really be like high school." Those were the good old days. And that made him feel old to think about.

"When you actually knew how to play?" Tim reached for his phone again as it went off. Smash tried to see who it was, but all he caught was an 'L' and then Tim's thumb covered the rest. Probably Lily again. "Hey, can I call you back…" he closed his eyes, pinching at his nose. His voice was harder. "Just tell her I'll talk to her tomorrow. Well I'm sorry. Yeah. Whatever. Bye." He shoved the phone into his back pocket.

"You get more calls than I do Riggs."

Tim only smiled, taking another sip of his beer. Smash really wanted to know what this was all about. Tim shrugged. "So what happened? All those primadonnas tamed you or something? Smash I see on TV every Sunday ain't the Smash I knew."

Yeah. The slump wasn't really…his best moment. Smash turned the football around a few times in his hands, his voice quiet, reflective. "Smash you knew wasn't…never mind." He didn't want to get into the differences from high school and now.

It was funny. Kid he was in high school…he got it all. All that he said he would and he just…now he didn't really want it. It wasn't him. Ironic, he guessed. He didn't know what it was, but it wasn't the fast-tailed football player he acted like he was in high school.

"Smash I knew was an asshole."

That was blunt, Smash thought, lifting his eyes, an eyebrow rising. Seriously Riggs?

"It's true." Tim shrugged again. "You still an asshole Williams?"

No. He tossed the football up into the air, finally pulling his arm back and hurtling it towards Tim. "I am not an asshole."

"Yup, still are." Tim threw the ball back at him, grinning when he dodged it. It clearly was something he'd expected, which annoyed Smash that he'd proven Riggins right. "See? You're scared of it. Go where the ball is? How hard is that?"

"Pretty damn hard, from what I hear about your turn as tailback."

"Shut up."

Smash took the ball, shrugging and throwing it back, where Tim caught it lightly in his arms. He threw it back to him again. Smash returned. He sighed. "Like to think I've done some growing up Riggins. You know, like we all have to do when we leave high school and get real jobs."

"Your real job is partying it up in South Beach and running up and down a field on TV. That's not a real job and you get paid millions of dollars to do it. Real jobs are jobs you get paid equal to your work."

Equal pay? Was Riggins going soft on him or something? He lifted an eyebrow again. "Oh? And what's your real job Riggins?" Not like you've worked a day in your life. I at least had that job at the Alamo Freeze in school. You just drank.

Tim smiled, throwing the ball back. He shrugged. "Construction. Demolition. You know."

That actually made sense to Smash. Tim liked to bang things up and destroy them, but he hadn't been bad at fixing up stuff. He could have gotten an A in their shop class if he weren't drunk and forbidden from operating the machinery. He ran his tongue over his teeth, something occurring to him. He threw the ball at Tim, calling out. "Things you picked up in prison?"

Uh-oh. Smash knew he hit a nerve. Tim froze, holding the ball. He stared. After a minute, he spoke, quiet. Deadly quiet, Smash thought, swallowing hard. Maybe he really overstepped. "How'd you know about that?"

Smash shrugged again. It wasn't hard to pick up a phone. There were sources. Not like he kept tabs on his friends from high school and he had no real reason to even think about anyone again, but his mother mentioned it. She heard it from someone who heard from someone who heard from someone. Dillon grapevine. "Always figured you'd do something stupid."

The ball caught him hard in the chest, winding him, but he deserved that, seeing Tim's dark look. He was pushing buttons he knew he shouldn't be pushing, but he was still pissed off about his slump. Pissed off that he'd worked hard for everything, he deserved all he had, and he couldn't even be happy about it or have it last without imploding.

Besides, Riggins was always good to push buttons. He was constantly angry. It was nice to see that hadn't faded with age. "Good to see you're finally making something of yourself. Not that clichéd former high school football god turned to nothing." Smash continued, pressing another button. "I expected you to be fat and balding like most the guys who used to win championships. Hell, you can even run too."

"Shut up," Tim said. He tossed his hair from his eyes. He gestured with the football towards im, warning. "Just shut up. You have no idea what you're talking about."

"I think I do because I was going to be that way for a second until I got my act together."

"Coach got your act together for you."

"Maybe, maybe, but who is in the NFL? Who has a Heisman? Endorsements?" He threw the ball again, stepping back and shrugging. "What are you going to do? Bring down whoever you married like you do everyone else Riggins? Or are you the same as you were in high school? You got what? You got the wife, Lilly, Sophie? How many others are out there that still fall for that sad-eyed orphan crap? Now you got the jail thing too, I bet that's a real winner with the ladies."

That was it. He knew it the second it came out that he was going to be a dead man. Smash steeled himself, waited a beat, and felt Tim charge, knocking him back hard. A block right out of high school. He flew across the grass, banging his shoulder hard and rolling a couple of times before he came to a stop, winded, staring up at the darkening sky.

Tim leaned over him. "Want to try that again?" he growled.

Yes, he instantly thought, but…oh hell, he wasn't mad. No, he deserved that, but it was something else he was feeling that had him laughing. Tim frowned. He clearly wasn't expecting that sort of a reaction.

It was the first time in months Smash felt like he actually was playing football. Actually fighting. He got back up to his feet, nudging at Tim's shoulder. "Good block."

"That wasn't a block. That was a push."

"Nice push."

Tim shrugged, smirking. He was still lying on his back. Smash offered his hand, helping his old friend to his feet, smiling. Tim continued to smile, turned, and began to walk back to the truck.

He waited until Tim was a few feet away before he sprinted, knocking him to the ground. Which ensued into a full-blown fight, the two of them knocking each other into the dirt. Smash laughed, yelling when Tim finally let up, getting to his feet.

And he felt better.

He turned in circles a few times, looking up at the sky. It was almost completely dark. Quiet. Relaxing. "This place isn't Dillon, but it'll do," he said.

"Nothing will do if it isn't Dillon." Tim grabbed the football throwing it at him. "There. You out of your slump now?"

Probably, not completely, but Smash figured he was getting there. It wasn't going to take just a few punches and a practice of dealing with Tim Riggins to cure the slump, but it was a decent start. He climbed back into the truck awhile later, glancing sideways. "You okay to drive?"

"I barely had anything to drink." Smash thought back. True. He'd barely finished his beer, meanwhile Smash had gone through three. Tim turned the truck back onto the main street. "So where do you say when you come to small-town Pennsylvania?"

"I'm in Philly at the Ritz."

"Of course."

About an hour later, he climbed out of the truck, slamming the door and leaning in the open window. "See you tomorrow man."

Tim just smiled and fist bumped him through the open window. "Later Williams." He didn't say anything else, pulling out of the parking space and back onto the street, leaving Smash to stand alone, with his gym bag over his shoulder and his hands in his pockets. Wonder where Riggins sleeps in foreign cities, he thought.

Maybe he just stayed awake, like a bat or something. He chuckled, standing on the side of the street for a few minutes longer, just savoring the moment to himself. He didn't do that a lot.

He waited another minute, finally turning and going into the hotel, up to his room, stopping every so often to oblige people for photos and autographs when they recognized him. It didn't help he had a Got Milk ad hanging outside of the hotel on the next building over.

As much as he wanted to go upstairs and get some rest, his momma told him to never say no to those people because he came from nothing and she refused to have him turn into one of those "fast-tailed" football players. Yes Momma, he told her, smiling when she'd been with him the first time he'd signed an autograph in public. I promise.

He got up to his room, sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes closing and his hand going over his knee. It ached, but unlike it usually did, it wasn't painful. It was good. His shoulder hurt. He felt the bruises already forming all over.

And he smiled.

This was football.

* * *

The next morning at seven on the dot he was dressed and ready, taking a knee at the base of the bleachers when Coach walked out, only he was alone. Smash stood. "Where's Riggs?"

"He's going back to Texas."

"What? Why?" He felt a weird sense of panic. Yesterday was the best he'd played since before the slump. He actually played football. Got his ass handed to him. Riggins was the only one in a long time to actually help. His voice quickened. "Where is he? Get him back here."

"Nope." Coach shook his head. "He told me last night you're fine. We both agreed that he go home." Coach smiled a little, his eyes shadowed by his sunglasses, holding the football in his hand and gesturing with it towards his chest. His voice softened. Coach Taylor talk, Smash realized, listening intently to every word coming from Coach's mouth. "Your problem isn't physical, Brian, it's mental. You need to decide if the NFL is really all you want it to be and more. You've got your Heisman, got your endorsements, got your MVP and your Super Bowl rings and your South Beach palace and God only knows what else. Now you need to decide if you're going to be one of those players who waits until they kick you out or if you want to set the terms."

He frowned. That was fine and all, he agreed, but… "Coach I'm not ready to go yet. I still got good years left." I'm barely thirty-three. I still got time. Guys these days are playing to forty or even forty-five. Banged up, but they were still out there.

"That's your decision and you're right, but this slump? It's mental."

Mental. Yeah, sure. But…he closed his eyes, turning in circles a few times, throwing his hands out to the sides. It was mental, fine, but he wasn't a basket case. He wasn't going to sit on some couch and let someone tell him how crazy he was or anything. "What am I supposed to do Coach?"

"You have to make those decisions. I told you. Decisions on your terms. On what you really want out of this game, because you had it in high school and you got it. You had it in college and you got it. You're at the peak in the NFL and you…you don't have any further to go in the sport, but you can still go elsewhere. It's mental." Eric nodded to the field. "Set the cones. Let's do some drills before I take you home to Tami. Your form is sloppy. Tim couldn't believe your flabby gut yesterday."

He rolled his eyes. "I don't have a flabby gut, I'm in the NFL."

"And Riggins was more agile than you and he's been out of the game since he was 18."

"19, Buddy Garrity had him held him back in ninth grade so he could play another year on varsity." Coach rolled his eyes. Smash just smiled. Texas high school football, what could he say.

So…mental, he thought, running the drills and following the whistle. He supposed he could live with that, but… he came to a stop about halfway through the drills, wondering something.

Riggins.

He turned, between a set of cones, and stared at Coach Taylor. "Coach!"

"What?"

"Riggins. You brought him out here because you want me to be like him? Right? Happy and all that crap?"

"Yes, happy and all that crap," Coach Taylor said. He shook his head, scoffing. "No Smash, I didn't bring him out here to teach you a lesson, I brought him out here because he's a damn fine carpenter and I was the only one to pay him to make his and hers closets that Tami's been on about for the last twenty something years. I also know that he's the only one who can beat the crap out of you. Now get back out there and finish the drills!"

Sure, he thought with a small smile.


	2. The Dinner

_**Chapter 2: The Dinner**_

Smash arrived exactly fifteen minutes before seven that evening, holding a bouquet of flowers and glanced down at his neck, feeling around in his pockets and at his chest to ensure there was no sign of bling. He took a look at his watch, cringing at the crystal-faced special edition Rolex. Ah…maybe it could be considered…no, it was a Rolex.

With a giant "S" in the face. Crap.

He was fighting with holding onto the flowers and removing the watch when the maroon-colored door to the happy-faced beige Colonial house swung back, a fall-colored wreath bouncing. Tami stood on the other side of the threshold, grinning wide. "I thought I heard someone rummaging around out here! How are you Brian?"

"Good," he laughed, giving up on the watch. He presented her with flowers and held up his wrist, sheepish. "Um, I know no bling, but…"

"Oh what a gorgeous watch! You're okay sweetheart, I was just speaking on behalf of Gracie, she's in a jewelry phase and I know you'd just walk off with none of your pieces because she'd have taken them or conned you out them, come on inside, wipe your feet." Tami closed the door behind him, turning and gave him another big hug.

He always liked Mrs. Coach, he thought, hugging her tight. He smiled even wider, if possible. "Thanks for inviting me, but we can always go out if this is giving you too much trouble."

"Oh not at all, not at all, I swear you boys grow up and get so polite, Tim said the same thing yesterday night when we had him over," Tami said, walking into the kitchen, which was open and faced the living room. She pointed to the couch. "Have a seat, Coach is outside getting steaks off the grill. Gracie Belle Taylor you come downstairs right now young lady, we have a guest!" she bellowed up the stairs.

She waited a second, not hearing anything, rolling her eyes. "Sorry Brian, we have a 13-year old in this house who thinks it is okay to _ignore her mother_!" Tami walked around the banister separating the living room from the kitchen, passing him a bottle of beer. She clapped her hands. "Oh my goodness, I forgot the potatoes! You sit there sweetheart, I'll be done in a moment."

Smash smiled, getting up from where he'd taken a seat on the couch, walking to the fireplace and taking in the family photos. They'd changed over the years. There were a bunch with Gracie, now a teenager and looking just as sullen as most teenagers. There was a really nice one of Julie and Matt getting married. Whoa! "Julie married Matty?" he demanded, to no one in particular.

"Yeah, I know right, and she wouldn't even let me give a toast," a girly voice complained. The girl, who had to be Gracie Belle, sidled up next to him, smiling sweetly. "You must be Smash. I'm Gracie."

The last time he saw Gracie, she was in diapers and giving him an evil-eye because he'd awoken her from a nap. Now Gracie was relatively tall, with strawberry blonde hair tied back in a high ponytail. She wore athletic shorts, socks, and a t-shirt that proclaimed 'Pemberton Middle School Cheer Squad.'

Smash zeroed in across the room at a picture of Gracie and Coach, standing together at some track meet, with Gracie holding up a medal hanging around her neck. There was also another with her in a soccer outfit. He wondered how that had gotten by Coach Taylor. Soccer was a communist sport in Texas. "I'm Smash," he said, shaking her hand. "You a cheerleader?"

"Yup. I also run track and swim. I'd play football if it weren't such a chauvinistic display of male homoeroticism," Gracie said, blinking her big blue eyes at him.

Oh, so you're like Julie too, Smash thought, nodding slowly. He frowned, his eyes narrowed. "Homoeroticism?"

"Yup."

"Gracie Belle, please stop talking nonsense and help me finish setting the table," Tami called from the dining room. She gestured to the photos. "I'll have to get out the wedding album, it was just lovely. There are some more in the den, if you want to take a look while I finish with these appetizers…no, no, down Wilson!"

Who the heck was Wilson?

Smash turned around just in time to see a giant floppy eared chocolate lab running at him, with paws too big for his gangly body. Coach was coming inside the sliding glass door with a plate full of steaks, barking for Wilson to get down. He laughed, kneeling to rub at the lab's ears, which got him a pleasurable groan and the puppy rolling on his back for a stomach rub once his ears were completed. "Nice dog Coach," he said.

"Yeah, well Gracie couldn't stop asking."

I'm sure, Smash thought, letting go of Wilson who jumped to his feet, trotting off to a big bed in the corner next to an overflowing basket of toys. He stood, stepping sideways into the den, which was full of even more photos.

He picked up one frame from an end table of the couch, frowning at the pretty white house behind it. It was just Eric and Tami, but they looked like they were at a wedding, standing in front of an altar or something. "Where was this? This in Texas?" he asked.

Eric nodded, removing the photo from his hands and setting it back down. "Tim's wedding."

"So he really did get married?"

"Why would I lie about that?"

"Who?" Smash demanded.

Coach chuckled, shaking his head. "Tim didn't tell you, he's got his reasons."

"He got kids too, though, right? Or just the one he was singing to?"

"I don't know anything about singing, but if Tim didn't tell you, he's got his reasons, come on now, everything's set out. Apologies in advance of Gracie, she's going through a hippie streak, but look!" Coach picked up a trophy, turning it and smiling, his chest puffing proudly. "State Pee Wee softball champs. She was ten."

"Congrats."

"Wasn't me, it was Gracie, Gracie come show Smash that scar you got from sliding in for the home plate and won the game!"

They all sat down to dinner a few minutes later, Wilson prowling for scraps, Gracie showing him the gnarly sandpaper like scar along her left forearm from sliding into home, which he had to admit was pretty awesome, and Mrs. Taylor asking him whether he wanted salt on his potatoes.

He smiled wide, just letting her pour food onto his plate, asking him how he enjoyed Cleveland. "Does it snow there as bad as it does here sometimes?" Tami rolled her eyes, lifting up her glass of wine. "I love Philly, I love this job, but don't get me wrong, the six months of snow can be a bit of a mood killer."

"I do like football in snow," he admitted. It made the game muddier. He always enjoyed that part of it. Reminded him of where he came from. He chuckled, reaching for his fork. "Remember the Mud Bowl?"

"How could I forget?" Eric replied, stabbing a piece of broccoli with his fork. He smiled, looking down the table at Tami. "Did you get the book out with the pictures?"

"I will after dinner, we can look at them over dessert."

"So what's Matt up to now?" Smash asked. He was curious now. His life was all over Sports Illustrated and sometimes People Magazine, depending on who he was dating at the time. He still didn't know much about what was going on with his teammates. Now he wanted to know and he was sure Coach and Tami would have the lowdown on some of the old gang. "I haven't talked to him since high school, Mrs. Taylor these potatoes are excellent."

Tami smiled a round her glass of wine. "Aren't you sweet? Corinna taught you well, how is she?"

"Loving Boca Raton."

"Is she still working?"

Yes, he couldn't get her to stop. She had a part time job as a nurse with Planned Parenthood still. His sisters, he told them, were getting their Master's at The Ohio State University to be a kindergarten teacher in the case of Sheila, and pre-med at Tulane, in the case of Noannie.

"What's she want to do in the medical field?" Tami asked.

He swallowed some steak. Last he heard, Noannie wanted to be a psychiatrist. Sports psychiatrist or something, he didn't think those people existed. He told them, reaching for his glass of water. Gracie piped up from across the table at him. "She should talk to Tim's wife."

"Mr. Riggins," Eric corrected her. Gracie rolled her eyes and Smash agreed. He couldn't see Tim being called that in his entire life.

Smash narrowed his eyes at Gracie. "Tell me Little Taylor. Who is his wife?"

Gracie shrugged. "He dated her in high school."

That didn't narrow it down much there were a lot of them he dated in high school. Smash frowned, glancing at Tami. "So what's with Matt and Julie, where are they now?" He'd figure Tim out later.

"They're in Paris right now, believe it or not, Matt got this grant to study at the Louvre and Julie is working freelance journalism, so she's contracted to National Geographic right now, working on some sort of anthropology thing they found in the Provence region. They're coming back to…" Tami frowned, looking across the table. "When are they coming back sweetheart?"

"Christmas, I think."

"No, I thought Matt said that the grant went until the spring and they didn't have enough money to come back."

They'll have enough money, Smash thought, making a mental note to send them tickets. He was about to take a sip of wine when he heard Eric mention how he had to talk to Lily, because she'd stolen his favorite baseball hat the last time they were in Texas. "Lily?" he asked, frowning.

"Tim's kid," Gracie said.

Tami gestured to Gracie with her fork. "He wasn't speaking to you, and what are you doing with those potatoes?"

"Making a volcano, like always."

"I never should have allowed Tyra to watch you during our cruise last year, you have picked up so many bad habits."

Tyra? He frowned. "How is Tyra doing? She still with that Landry guy?"

"Oh Lord no," Tami sighed, shaking her head. She smiled a little. "She's got another guy. They're living in Texas."

Eric pointed at him, narrowing his eyes. "We need to go over some game film, you were sloppy in that game against New England and you can't blame the slump, you thought you could get away with it because they're defense isn't what it used to be."

"No football talk at dinner please."

"He's a professional football player when am I going to get a chance to do this again?"

"When Vince comes over for Christmas dinner with his mother like he does every year since he graduated."

Vince? Smash frowned, turning to Eric. "Vince Howard? Quarterback for the Saints?"

"Only one."

Coach Eric Taylor, the professional football player-maker, he thought, shaking his head with a smile. Vince was damn good. He'd played up against him in one game. Lost that game, but he blamed the slump.

The rest of the dinner went like that, with Gracie talking about her school and the sports she played. She tried to refer back to the homoeroticism of football, but got shut down immediately. So she focused instead on some sport called lacrosse that Smash could only figure was soccer with sticks and not feet. He didn't get it.

He helped Tami with the dishes, learning that Matt's grandmother had passed away a few years back and he and Julie had been going from Chicago to New York to Los Angeles as he picked up different art grants and sold to different galleries. It made Julie happy, Mrs. Taylor told him, because she just wanted to write whatever she wanted, after a terrible stint as a stringer journalist for the Chicago Tribune taught her she had to write what others wanted and the way they wanted it.

He told them about Jason, but found that Coach Taylor still tended to keep in touch with him. They stopped their dessert when the phone rang and it was one of Coach's football players, which had Smash looking at Tami over the dishes in the kitchen, smiling. "He still helping them off the field too?"

Tami nodded idly, running a dish under the faucet, passing it to him to dry and set on the stack on the kitchen island. "Yes. It's what you have to do sometimes. Damon is a good kid, he's got talent. He's just…well he's kind of like Tim Riggins I would imagine. No parents around, his sister is trying to work four jobs and take care of him too. He gets lost by the wayside more often than naught."

"He's not a raging alcoholic though."

"No," she answered, meeting his eyes, a smile forming. "But neither is Tim."

"Not anymore?"

"You never stop alcoholism, it's a disease, but he's not raging anymore. He's got other things to care about."

"So who'd he marry?" Smash teased, knowing Mrs. Taylor would tell him. He laughed, taking another dish to dry. "Come on Mrs. T."

"I'm not saying a word," she laughed. "He didn't tell you, he's got his reasons, but she's a lovely girl and he's very happy. Still stays in touch with Coach which you know, because he called him out here to deal with you, now let's talk about that, you still feeling that slump they say you were in? Because I don't think it's a slump, I think you're just bored."

Wasn't that the same thing as a slump?

He shrugged. "I think it's going to be better."

"Good. It's all in your head Brian." Tami turned off the water, shaking out her hands and smiling up at him. She reached to pat his cheek, her eyes meeting his. A strand of red hair fell from the ponytail she'd pulled it back into before starting the dishes. She pushed it away, distracted. "Now I know Coach put you through your drills and got Tim out here to help remove your mental block and all that, but let me give you my two cents. Come here now."

Smash followed her out of the kitchen and onto the back patio, which looked out over a large backyard with a treehouse and swingset. He smiled a little, sitting down in the glider that Tami gestured towards, while she took a seat in an opposite Adirondack chair. It was so homey. He didn't have anything like this in his two houses.

He gestured towards the arbor of vines beneath the tree. "That's nice."

"Thank you. I'm still getting used to all this green here in Pennsylvania. There's also four seasons, not just heat, football, frost, and more heat."

He smiled. "Cleveland's like that too."

"You started there?"

"Haven't left, they treat me right, so I stayed when my contract was up. They signed me again. Didn't want me to go, I brought that town a Super Bowl. You thought Dillon was crazy when we won State? Try bringing the Vince Lombardi trophy to a town that has never had one and never thought they would." He laughed, still remembering when he got off the team plane in the airport, all the screams from the fans that were around and when he held that thing up. He was terrified he'd drop it.

He got to keep it for a bit and then it passed through all the homes of the players and coaches. Smash shrugged. "It was a great time," he said. He'd done it again, a couple more times after that. Him and that team, they were good. So he said so. "It's not just one guy Mrs. Taylor. It's the whole team. Brothers. Like in Dillon."

Tami smiled warmly. "Yes," she whispered. "Like in Dillon. Now…you think you still have that? You think it's all about you guys now?"

Not always. He got the feeling he wanted it to be more of a family than it was. They were paid to do it all. In Dillon it was for pride. For the town's pride. There was something bigger. He got what Coach meant now, about it being mental. He was losing that love for the sport. The pure love for it. He shrugged, whispering. "I guess I don't Mrs. Taylor. I think I don't have much time left. It's become a job."

"Maybe you need to do something with it that isn't a job."

"I've been thinking of a charity."

Tami nodded. "Good. I think your mother would appreciate that. If you get involved with charities, you should talk with Jason. He can set it up for you and also talk with Lyla Garrity, I'm sure you can get hold of her."

"Lyla Garrity?" He'd never really held more than a few minutes conversation with her in his entire life. He frowned. "Why her?"

"Because she's got a charity she helped start when she worked for University of Texas Medical Center. It's for football spinal injuries, she's a well respected physical therapist and sports medicine trainer working with adolescent spinal injuries. It's her…her baby. It's a good charity, but she's got experience with how to set one up and everything."

A charity for Jason Street, Smash immediately thought it was. He nodded. "Okay."

The sliding glass door opened, Wilson shooting out like a bullet to run into the bushes, Eric stepping out behind him. He passed Smash a beer and Tami a glass of wine. "So what are we talking about out here? Gracie's upstairs doing homework, before you ask."

"Good, she's got a test next week that's about forty percent of her math grade, which needs to come up or else she's going without television," Tami said.

Eric sipped his beer, smiling a little across to Smash. "You feeling your slump is gone now Brian?"

Smash smiled wide. "I think so sir."

"And it's not about being happy and crap, like you said. I don't want you to be a thing like Riggins, even if he is happy and crap."

"Eric," Tami chided. "There are worse things that he could be. Now…Smash, tell me, enough football." Her eyes twinkled. "Is there anyone special in your life? And not just those models, honestly, those women look ridiculous."

Smash laughed again. "Not right now Mrs. Taylor. Can only wrap my mind around one woman at a time and right now the only woman with my heart is my momma."

"Well I don't believe that, there's got to be someone."

Eric rolled his eyes. "You and your matchmaking. You got one success, Tami."

"That wasn't me, that was just Tim being Tim."

"You set up Tim?" Smash laughed.

Tami waved her hand. "I may have put two people in the same room at the same time when we were back in Dillon a few years ago. It doesn't matter. What matters is this house of your mother's that you had built for her, do you have pictures? I want to see, I'm sure your mother had it decorated…oh! Eric! Look at this foyer!"

Smash left Tami with his phone of pictures of his mother's house, walking off into the backyard with Coach, hearing about how the Pemberton Pioneers were looking for the upcoming season. It didn't sound like Coach disliked it at all, even if it was a much smaller scale football team and crowd.

He finished his beer. "So no Pennsylvania Buddy Garritys, huh?"

"I tell you that's one of the more relaxing things about being a football coach outside of Texas. It's not the same, but it kind of is. It isn't their Boosters who are the problem, it's a bit of the parents too."

So he heard about how there were some parents that would be a bit more into things than they probably should have been. Heard about how they barely made it to the State Division semifinals last year but lost when their start quarterback broke his throwing arm. Heard about Gracie's chances for the varsity softball, track, and cheerleading teams next year.

Cheerleading, he laughed, he couldn't believe that.

"She's only doing it so she can show the other girls that there is a sport to it and not just chanting letters," Eric mumbled. He rolled is eyes. "She's an activist in her own right, just like Julie was I guess. At least she's not a vegetarian."

"Of course."

The rest of the night was really nice. He left the house with leftovers and promises to call, write, whatever. As well as for tickets. He still wanted an answer on Riggins. Everyone got so damn cagey and he had no idea why. Clearly there was a reason Coach brought him out to help and it wasn't just for his and hers closets, which Tami showed off, and were really quite nice.

Smash laid back in his king size bed at the Ritz that night, closed his eyes, and smiled. He hadn't felt this good in a long, long time.


End file.
